The Wild Boy and Queen Moon by K M Peyton Page B

film.’
    Sandy looked out and saw that the mare was standing now. Jonas was in the tackroom. She leaned her chin on the half-door, disturbed. All these things – first Duncan, then Polly saying she had lost the twenty-pound note, and now the wild boy – her solid world was beginning to revolve.
    She slipped out, leaving Leo and Julia, and went over to the mare. The mare put her soft muzzle in Sandy’s hand and gave her a friendly shove. All she had for a bridle was a piece of rope knotted over her ears and round her nose – nothing through her mouth. Her grey coat was pale in the dusk, ghostlike; she would soon be pure white.
    While she was standing there, Jonas came out.
    Sandy said, ‘What’s your horse’s name?’
    ‘Queen Moon.’
    ‘She’s lovely. I wish you kept her here.’
    The boy looked at her, not crossly but apparently interested.
    ‘I haven’t got anywhere to keep her. Only a shed.’
    ‘You could come here!’
    He shrugged. ‘Costs money.’ He mounted with one easy hop. ‘I haven’t got any.’
    ‘It’s very cheap here. I’d look after her for you.’ She hadn’t meant to say this, it just slipped out. She felt almost desperate to see more of this lovely mare.
    The boy was riding out of the yard. He half pulled up, looked down on Sandy, and actually smiled.
    ‘I’ll bear it in mind.’
    His smile showed teeth as white as his mare’s mane, shining in his gypsy face. Sandy felt her heart turn over. The Magic Man indeed! But she would never admit it to Leo, never. Leo made a joke of everything. Sandy felt that something very serious had happened, meeting Jonas Brown and his mare Queen Moon.

‘WE REALLY MUST do something about it,’ Polly said to Sandy. ‘He’ll ruin that horse if he goes on like this.’
    Sneerwell was riding King of the Fireworks in the schooling field, trying to make him jump. The big horse did not know what was required, as every time he set off towards a jump, Sneerwell, in his nervousness, pulled hard on his mouth, restraining him. Sneerwell called it ‘steadying for the approach’. He had read it in books.
    ‘Do teach him!’ Sandy pleaded. She couldn’t bear it either. ‘He must realize by now that he’s getting nowhere!’
    It was gone Christmas. The year had so far been surprisingly mild and dry and sometimes, already, Sandy thought she could smell spring. The days were slowly drawing out.
    Polly and Sandy leaned on the paddock rails and watched Sneerwell steer for a pair of low rails set on blocks. He had a good natural balance and plenty of enthusiasm, but no sensitivity at all . King of the Fireworks was a highly schooled horse and could not make head or tail of what was expected of him. He refused and showed his disapproval by bucking.
    ‘Old boot, you!’ Sneerwell shouted.
    He rode across and said to them, ‘Honestly, this horse is useless. You saw him there. What am I supposed to do with him?’
    Polly straightened up and said purposefully, ‘Do you really want to know, Mr Speerwell?’
    He looked rather surprised, glaring down. How handsome he was, Sandy thought, his colour raised and his bright blue eyes sparkling with annoyance! What a pity he was such a nerd.
    ‘Tell me, Miss Marlow,’ he said sarcastically.
    ‘Miss Mar
lin
,’ Polly corrected him. ‘As in spike.’
    He grinned. ‘Very appropriate.’
    ‘Yes. What you should do,’ Polly said very pointedly, speaking as if to an infant, ‘is learn to ride properly.’
    ‘Like you, I suppose?’ he said insolently.
    ‘Yes.’
    There was a long silence. They stared at each other. Sandy could sense decisions being taken, and realized, with both amazement and relief, that Sneerwell was actually digesting Polly’s criticism. His thick, thick skin was showing cracks. It had taken long enough.
    ‘Four months you’ve had that horse, and you haven ’t yet jumped it successfully in the paddock, let alone across country. Even Sandy here could get him over these schooling